Sugar and Spice
by SallowSapling
Summary: There's always a counterpart to everything: light and dark, yin and yang, sugar and spice. Opposites attract, or so they say. Karkat Vantas, disgruntled college freshman, is just hoping this law passes him by. A certain young student is making it more difficult than he thought. AU, Johnkat.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N:__ So this is like a trial chapter. A sample, if you will. I got the idea when I visited this bakery with fucking delicious cinnamon rolls. So like if you are a fan of pastries and Johnkat and inconceivably lame humor, this is the story for you._

_Warnings:__ M for a reason. Language (naturally) and later on, if I feel like it, some delicious lemony contents. And I don't mean meringues. *wriggles eyebrows*_

_Disclaimer:__ Homestuck and all its characters belong to a certain mad genius named Andrew Hussie. Can you guess what my name is? Not Andrew Hussie._

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Chapter one: Spice

"Great," he muttered, prominent grimace in place. Ten feet away and he could already hear music muffled through the door. This was the third time that week.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets he shuffled down the hall, the door of his room almost trembling with the rhythm of the bass. Grumbling, he swung the door open and a wave of sound hit his ears, hammering heavily off the walls in the small room.

"Gamzee, will you turn that shit down?" Karkat called over the music, glaring at the disheveled figure sprawled across the top bunk. "Gamzee," he said louder, still receiving no response. With a growl, Karkat stomped over to the cluttered bedside table and turned off the radio.

Messy black hair and bloodshot eyes peeked over the edge of the bed, followed by a Cheshire grin and lethargic wave of a hand.

"Heeey, best friend," Gamzee drawled, taking a drag of whatever was between his fingers.

"You're fucking high again, Gamzee?" Karkat spit out, dropping his bookbag on his bed.

Gamzee bobbed his head, lobbing his curls back and forth slowly. "Nah, brother, I'm just all up and motherfucking marinating in the sweet, vibrant flavors dancing all around me. Like a giant fireworks display that just keeps on displaying."

Karkat watched wordlessly as Gamzee reached a hand lazily above him, snatching at the air with the same blissful expression on his face. "I can almost touch them with my own flesh. They're all motherfuckin' ticklish or something, hopping away like that."

Karkat held his head in his hand, a low grumble emitting from his throat. He couldn't believe this was happening to him. Again. "Put that shit out, you dickmunching idiot, you'll set off the fire alarm. And you'll have to twiddle your fucking thumbs alone on a cold metal bench at three a.m. because I'm not dragging my ass downtown to bust you out of jail for being in possession of whatever it is you're puffing."

He threw open the heavy velvet curtains to the window overlooking the courtyard two stories below before cracking open the window and fanning some of the smoke out into the cool evening air.

Gamzee laughed heavily, his voice sounding more like a honk than any sound a normal person would make. Karkat clenched his teeth in irritation at the sound. "Don't fucking honk at me, shitsponge. Now snuff that out and go dunk your head in some cold water or hydrochloric acid or anything that could possibly clear out even a fragment of the cobwebs littering your intoxicated, twisted, cult-worshiping think-pan."

Gamzee shook his head, gazing out the window distantly. "I'm afraid I can't do that, brother. My soul is on a quest of existential purposes, all up and expediting itself in search of the fruity essence of life's greatest mysteries." A rumble shook Gamzee from his daze, and he put a hand over his abdomen.

"There they go, man. There go the spirits of curiosity all up and raging a war in my stomach." He took another deep drag on his cigarette before blowing out a smooth cloud of smoke, watching it dearly as it floated to the ceiling.

Karkat slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand, a headache beginning to form. Sometimes he really couldn't stand his roommate. "Okay, if I bring you a pie and your carbonated generic brand soda will you put that shit out and tuck your own sorry, clown ass in bed for once like a responsible adult?"

Gamzee nodded sluggishly, then hung himself over the edge of the bunk and dropped his cigarette into the ashtray on the nightstand "Yeah, Karbro, you got yourself a motherfuckin' deal."

Karkat reached into his backpack and took out his cellphone, already becoming dizzy from the fumes. Fantastic, now he had to find some place on campus that sold pie at – he checked his watch – nine thirty in the evening. Not even four months into the year and Karkat already was wasting countless hard-earned dollars on his friend and roommate's drug-induced cravings. He wondered why he even continued to put up with the clown-loving jackass.

Karkat left his dormitory and walked aimlessly down the street, turning down an unfamiliar road to carelessly browse the shops for a convenience store.

But then he spotted it: a grotesque, pink, two-storied building perched prominently, portentously at the corner of the street.

_Betty's Bakery._

Karkat raised a cynical eyebrow at the name written in gold ink on the sign over the door barely lit by the street lamps scattered on the sidewalks. The lights in the building were curiously still on, and the neon open sign in the window glowed brightly despite how late it was for a bakery to be open.

Taking a chance, Karkat opened the door, a cheerful bell tinkling as he entered. The overwhelming aroma of fruit, sugar, and baked bread immediately assaulted Karkat, cringingly strong and sappily welcoming.

Old-fashioned wallpaper and cheesy diner-style tiles encased the room, and various wooden tables were distributed unevenly throughout with a few booths against the walls.

"Hi there!" said a piercing voice. Karkat redirected his attention to the only other person in the room, the cashier: dorky, young, and far too cheerful to be working this late at night.

Karkat inspected the boy more closely, his messy raven hair, dipsy grin, and almost impossibly blue eyes framed by dark-rimmed glasses. How could this kid even have such a genuinely friendly smile when he worked a part-time job, a nightshift no less?

"Can I help you?" the boy asked, and Karkat blinked hurriedly, gathering his thoughts. Pie, he came for pie.

"Yeah, uh," Karkat glanced at the nametag pinned to the cashier's flour-dusted apron, "John. Can I just get a pie?" he muttered, averting his eyes from that piercing azure gaze to instead examine various knick-knacks clustered on the counter that literally had _granny_ written all over them.

"What flavor?" John asked.

Karkat shrugged a shoulder, "Whatever's available."

John grinned even wider, "One blackberry pie it is." And then he chuckled. Nay, _giggled._ And for some inexplicable, perplexing, gut-retching reason, it made Karkat's heart flutter.

"Anything else I can get you?" John continued, refocusing Karkat.

He coughed into his hand, eyes glazing over the hanging menu. He could go for a pastry. "What's good?"

John hummed in deliberation, and Karkat couldn't help but notice the overbite digging into John's bottom lip as he chewed on it thoughtfully, but quickly disregarded the observation. What the hell was he, nerd-sleuth extraordinaire?

"Everything's good, but I'd suggest a Danish. They're the freshest tonight!"

"I'll take one of those," Karkat said, inspecting the pastries aligned in the display case.

"Great! Cheese, raspberry, apple, cinnamon, or chocolate?" John took a pair of plastic gloves from a dispenser on the counter and slipped them on over his long fingers, gazing expectedly at Karkat.

"Cinnamon," he said, and John smiled more delicately at this.

"I figured. You strike me as a spice kind of guy."

Karkat felt heat rise to his cheeks. John was really starting to get under his skin in the worst ways, and that stupid leer made even his own lips hurt. He scowled at John, furrowing his brows when he only laughed again, further invoking Karkat's anger.

"That will be 24.95," John stated, punching the total into the cash register.

Karkat felt his eyes widen at the number. "Fuck me," he grumbled under his breath. This was money he certainly did not have, not with his pathetic excuse for an income.

John looked sympathetically at him. "Trust me, you definitely get what you pay for."

Well, what other choice did he have? Karkat sighed and reached for his wallet, taking out the required amount and silently comforting the empty, weeping gap that once held several hours' work worth of money.

He slapped his money on the countertop, waiting for his change. He couldn't believe he was spending thirty dollars on deserts for his roommate in the middle of the night.

"You're open pretty late," Karkat said casually, receiving a surprisingly sarcastic snort and roll of the eyes from John.

"Have you forgetting that this is a college campus? We could run this place solely on the customers staggering in here drunk off their ass with the midnight munchies."

As if on cue, a group of loud, preppy students came stumbling through the door and dropped to their designer panted knees in front of the large glass display case, pointing their perfectly painted nails and gigging over something or another. John sent a knowing smirk at Karkat and turned around.

He took a large plastic wrapped pie from a small refrigerator and placed it in front of Karkat, then reached into the display case on the counter to take a pastry from its place among the others of its kind.

"Here you go. Have a nice night, and come back any time!" John beamed.

Karkat stood rooted to the floor, unable to look away from that damn cheerful face, its rosy cheeks, full lips, and ridiculous sky-blue eyes. He looked like an idiot of outlandish proportion. And Karkat was entranced.

What even was wrong with him? He must have breathed in a little too much of Gamzee's fumes. Forcing himself to look away, Karkat scoffed at the boy and willed his stomach to sit back in its place.

Collecting his items in a bag, Karkat hurriedly left the shop, beginning his walk back to his dormitory. He took the pastry from the bag and unwrapped it as he walked, taking a small, evaluating bite.

It was unbelievably delicious.

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_A/N:__ okay so like I said: trial chapter. Should this be a thing? Should I just not? I can't know if you don't tell me. Be a doll and drop me a review and or other form of comment like a follow or fav if you actually like it. I find a reader who shares their opinion to be very attractive._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N__: so I'm feeling pretty good about uploading this next chapter because of the feedback from the first chapter. I'll take it. For now. Anyways here is the second chapter. _

_Warnings:__ language, mild mediocre writing. _

_Disclaimer:__ I do not own a bakery or Homestick. An author can only dream. _

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Chapter two: Luck

When Karkat became angry, the natural reaction was to do literally anything to avoid him. Of course he was already avoided by mostly everyone anyways, angry or not. Sometimes it was hard to tell whether or not the permanently plastered expression on his face was one of general discontent or hazardous rage. Sometimes there was really no difference.

To most people Karkat's vicious rants were a blur of fury, but to his closest friends – the few who didn't flee at the sight of his perpetual grimace – he had distinctive levels of anger. He refused to acknowledge the idea at all, even with the "indithputable proof" Sollux had presented to him on numerous occasions.

Karkat never saw himself as a pessimist or cynic or any of those bullshit labels; he didn't have the time or motivation to play psychoanalyst with himself. Levels or not, Karkat was rarely pleased. And, like today, he still refused to recognize the hypothetical bar of anger quickly rising with each waking second of horrorterrors he found himself forced into.

Although, hypothetically, if there were an actual measurable bar, Karkat might have said that at this point, this hypothetical bar was in danger of being shattered by how utterly pissed he was.

Hypothetically.

This non-literal bar was already steadily balanced at mildly pleased since Gamzee kept his word that night and went to bed immediately after finishing his pie which he described as tasting of the most miraculous of loves, whatever that meant.

Continuing into his day, however, satisfaction quickly turned for the worse. Insipid lecture, ridiculous assignments, and annoying classmates were the daily doses of shit luck that Karkat was naturally dealt with. But today, for whatever horrendous sin he must have committed to earn this ironic act of karma, his delayed alarm, the newly torn hole in his sneaker, and pop math quiz were added additions to the miserable lottery deck of deranged torture that was college.

By the time afternoon had settled itself most gratefully on Karkat's lap, he was already near his breaking point. He had the late shift at work that evening, and, having missed breakfast, he decided to stop by a local fast food joint for lunch. Nothing cured a shit day better than a greasy, heart-stopping processed beef sandwich.

But, to just his luck, his wallet was nowhere to be found. Not in his pants or backpack – not even in the useless little pouch on the side. He swore under his breath, panic beginning to swarm in his head. Did somebody steal it? Did he leave it in his dorm? Did Gamzee take it to waste on more drugs and pie?

God. Damnit. He grasped his ebon hair in frustration, ready to rip apart anything he got his hands on. The bakery, of course. He must have forgotten to put his wallet back in his hurry to leave. He was an idiot of colossal proportions.

He dragged himself with heavy feet back to the bakery, hoping that no one snatched it and took off in the fourteen hours he left it unattended. At least he could cancel his bank card but all his money from the last week of work was kept in there. He couldn't believe this was happening to him.

With low expectations, Karkat walked back up to that disgustingly pink building and opened the door, the same bell chiming happily as he entered.

Much to his surprise, the store was bustling with customers. The numerous tables and booths apparently had a purpose to serve according to their being almost entirely occupied.

"Can I help you with anything else today?"

Karkat recognized the voice immediately. There John was: powdered apron, messy black hair, charming grin in place, pouring water into some giggling girls' cups.

It took a while for him to notice Karkat standing in the doorway, but eventually when he came close enough to see him, he waved with his pen in hand and hurried over to him.

"Hi again!"

Karkat almost took a step back from the sheer energy radiating from John. What, was this guy on fucking Prozac or something?

"Yeah, I think I left my-"

"John!" someone called from the kitchen. Karkat noticed the cash register was currently unmanned, despite there still being people at the counter. "Order fourteen!"

John sighed and bounced on his heels. "I'll be right with you," he told Karkat. "Go take a seat and I'll finish up with these customers."

He scurried off into the other room before Karkat had the chance to reply. He just wanted his damn wallet back! His day seriously couldn't get any worse. Someone must have been a real sick bastard to deal him with possibly the absolute worst game of life a sadistic jerk could conjure up for an innocent guy like Karkat.

With an impatient groan, Karkat dropped into an unoccupied chair and crossed his arms, fingers tapping against his sweater. He came here for a reason, and yelling at the cashier-waiter was probably not going to get his property back any sooner.

He watched with a scowl as John served various patrons and rang up more customers, scampering back and forth between the kitchen and main area like a mousy little servant.

He only stopped to place a cup on Karkat's table. "On the house," he said before returning to cater to more customers.

Karkat examined the paper cup suspiciously and took an experimental sip.

Chai tea?

You strike me as a spice kind of guy.

Karkat felt his cheeks heat at the memory and clenched his teeth. That John kid was seriously swimming in dangerous waters. Karkat had never been so discomforted by someone - dipsy grin, blunt comments, fucking chai tea? He was as distasteful as a carton of thick, purified molasses. And as fake, too.

As John completed his rounds – ringing up the remaining customers; serving the completed orders which were mostly lunch dishes; collecting the left over checks; and then checking in one last time with the serviced patrons – Karkat finished his drink which was, though he wouldn't admit it, pretty good, and evaluated the bustling waiter. John had to be secretly snuffing shit with Gamzee because how could he handle an entire shop at once and look like a danger-diddling dumbass all the while?

Unexpectedly, said dumbass pulled out the chair at Karkat's table and sat across from him, leaning onto the table tiredly.

"Sorry for the wait," he told him, "The lunch rush is always a killer on the weekend. We're more of a café than anything, so I guess it's good since we get a lot of business that way. Well, we only really serve lunch and desert but we still get customers at any time of the day. Personally I like evening shifts much better since there are less customers but hey, whatever. But let me tell you, it can be a real hassle when it comes to-"

"Yeah, okay, not that I wouldn't love to sit with my head cradled all comfy in my hands while I listen by the fire for storytime with major prick number one, but sadly I appear to have run out of fucks to give. Wait, what's this up my sleeve? Could it possibly be a fuck? Oh, darn, it's just a rat's ass. But I think I'll save that for later. Now can you pretty please with a big-ass cherry on top close off your windpipe through any means necessary and deliver my goddamn goods? Or do I have to pay for shipping and handling and wait with ass-tickling anticipation for three to five days?"

He had snapped. One man could only handle so much in a day before he cracked like the flimsy shell of an egg, and for Karkat that breaking point came sooner than most. That stupid grin and crackly voice was just the last straw.

He had expected John to walk away, yell at him, kick him out, maybe even cry. Karkat had seen it all; he was just waiting for the kid to give him back his wallet one way or another and go away.

But, much to his surprise, John did not shout, weep, or use some untold cashier's strength to throw him out of the store. His giddy expression didn't even falter. No, instead, he laughed. Curled into himself, fell onto the table, sprawled his tan, lanky arms over his head, and fucking chortled like an hog asphyxiating on its own tongue.

"I'm sorry," he whimpered, "I've just never heard anyone tell me to shut up like that before."

Karkat narrowed his storm-gray eyes.

"Anyways," John sat back up and placed a cheap black wallet on the table, "here you go. You should keep a better eye on that kind of stuff, Karkat."

Karkat's eyes flashed furiously. "You went through it?"

"Well I had to find out whose it was in the first place."

"Oh," Karkat said. There wasn't much else he could say.

"So you're a student here?"

Karkat scoffed derisively. "No, I just decided to waltz onto a college campus solely for the purposes of purchasing pies and sharing my whole goddamn life story with amateur herp-derping detectives. Yeah, I go to school here."

John looked startled but quickly recovered, smirk playing at the edge of his slightly chapped lips. "Wow, okay, so like you are probably one of the rudest people I've ever met."

Karkat grunted in reply. It's not like he could disagree. He was an asshole, but he was also a self-aware asshole. Perhaps this annoying, overachieving employee didn't deserve such a biting tone. Perhaps if Karkat were a lesser of an asshole he might have swallowed back enough of his gargantuous pride to apologize. But he wasn't.

He did, however have at least some self control. He proved this to himself by straining to contain his eager middle finger, choosing instead to bite his cheek in ire.

"What's your major?" John pressed further.

Karkat glanced around, searching for some escape from engaging in any more small talk. Walking away like a fucking pansy would have been a disgraceful admittance of defeat, a personal denouncement to the tussled, antagonistic interrogator prodding his nosy proboscis into the toxic pools of _getting to know one another_.

Unfortunately for Karkat, no new costumers had come to his rescue, and the remaining ones seemed entirely oblivious to their conversation, either being too caught up in their own chatter or too busy stuffing their faces to even notice.

But Karkat was a steadfast warrior. He would not submit so easily to his own misanthropic impulses. He would play this game, only, only to show to himself that he could be civil every once in a while.

"Biology," he grumbled. This seemed to be just the thing to spark John's interest if his lit-up-like-a-Christmas-tree sparkly sapphire eyes were any indication.

"That's cool! My cousin Jade is a plant biologist. She doesn't go to this school even though she really wanted to but she's at the top of her class right now. I actually was pretty interested in that field of science myself but decided-" he paused, seeming to show some awareness of the frown on Karkat who wasn't even aware he had one on display. "Sorry. I'm told I ramble too much."

Karkat rolled his eyes. His headache was beginning to come back. "No, go ahead, I have all the fucking time in the world. Don't bother recording Days of Our Lives tonight because I am stacked up the ass with nothing but time to watch that bullcockery and make room for a special cameo by our very own cliche cashier, Sir John the Jabbering Job-holder."

Well, so much for civil small talk.

John raised an amused eyebrow. "Well, Mister All-the-Time-in-the-World, surely you could spare some of your infinitely available recourses to swing by tomorrow for our usual weekend sale?"

Karkat was tempted to run away. Between that and brutally gouging out every orifice by which this ardent kid seemed to sneak strange thoughts into his head, Karkat was at a loss as to how to deal with this invitation. Was it even an invitation? Probably just a uniform advertisement.

Whatever the case, Karkat was most definitely not going to ever return to this shitstain of an establishment, and especially not going to make any arrangements to see this blathering optimist ever again.

"Does this include pies?"

Of course, Gamzee did like the pie.

John nodded, "Everything on the menu is up to half off."

Karkat made a small grunt. He wasn't sure exactly what that sound was supposed to signify, but he couldn't seem to form any coherent words; he couldn't answer one way or another.

But John just kept staring at him with those stupid cerulean eyes, searching like a puppy anticipating a treat from its master.

"Yeah," he finally managed to utter.

An order was called from the kitchen, and John excused himself. With a flash of a grin over his shoulder, John disappeared behind the counter.

Karkat quickly disappeared as well, the door chiming closed behind him, bidding him a farewell until the next time he awakened the bell from its eager, awaiting position.

Karkat swore that, now out of his voodoo-influenced state, he would not hear its welcoming song again.

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_A/N:__ so I'm making it happen. Yay or nay? On a scale of Crocs to Lays I'd say this ranks at about shit. What do you think? Feedback is appreciated greatly. *whispers I love you*_


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